I Might Need Your Help With The Details
by Tashana Ambrosia
Summary: Its still a late night call, a rain storm, a gazebo in a park, and a green dress. There are some things that have changed and a moment that is still weighing on someone's mind. What could possibly go wrong? Based off from the seasons of the show in the 90's. Mild suggestive themes, alcohol, and some cussing.


**Authoress' Notes:** Okay so this ran away with me! I swear to god I am the biggest Charley/Vinnie fan, but. . . I had this errant thought about 'what if' and that got me falling down this rabbit hole. So this is sort of the same story as the other one, but it's really not. . . It's complicated.

I have hacked this thing half to death. I am so worried that I don't have Throttle's voice right. I would love any thoughts you all have about that.

I am working on the more, eh-hem, mature part to the other piece "I Might Need Your Help," but I've been dealing with changes at work, as well as some personal crap. So I will update when that is ready on the other site.

So this is dedicated to **The Third Biker Scholar**, who is simply amazing, and she plugged my other piece *Squeal* and helped me with some editing. I hope you enjoy this darlynn. ^_^

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of these characters, they belong to the studio and writers that first created them. I am merely borrowing them for a story or two. This story is for entertainment purposes only and I am drawing no profit from it.

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**I Might Need Your Help With The Details**

* * *

There were tears in Carbine's eyes when Throttle answered the call from home; he told his bros to find somewhere else to be. They didn't argue.

"I'm sorry." Those were the first words out of her mouth and he knew she wasn't talking about the mission. She never cried unless it was deeply personal. She tried to hide her emotions from everyone, even now she still felt the need to be strong around him.

He wanted to get mad at her, because he knew what this call was, but all he could do is shake his head and smirk lazily. "So what's his name?"

"Don't do that." She growled, wiping the tears off her cheeks.

"What exactly do you want me to do, Ba. . .Carbine?"

"Get mad at me, cuss me out, scream, call me names, something." She tugged on her right ear, her nervous tell, than looked down. "I deserve it."

"Do you?" He questioned. "You running around with him already?"

"No." She shook her head empathically. "I wouldn't do that to you. I still care about you. But I have so much going here, I need. . . I just needed. . ."

"Someone there." He finished. "Hey, don't cry. It don't suit you, Babe." He sighed. "Carbine, look at me." When her eyes flicked up to meet his, he continued. "We were kids when we got started, and sometimes it just don't stick."

"I wanted it to." She admitted sadly, "I always thought, we'd be together again. I never meant for us to drift apart, but. . ."

"Kinda hard being on two different worlds."

"Exactly. Throttle, I've known you forever. I want us to be friends, hold onto the good memories."

He chuckled, "Like that night on . . ."

"Yes, memories like that one." Her cheeks flushed red, but she requested quietly, "Promise me that we can be friends. I don't know what I'd do if you hated me."

"Can't turn my back on the woman rebuilding my planet." He meant it to be funny, but he watched her face fall at his direct avoidance of her last statement. "Hey we'll be good, just give me some space for a while." He assured her. "You're family."

Her eyes widened for a moment, before quickly encouraging him. "Give them hell on Earth. I look forward to seeing you when you all come home."

"Glad we'll be welcomed this time around." He nodded and before he could stop himself, he asked, "Do I get to know his name?"

"It's Tribute."

.:.

It had been about three weeks and because Throttle hadn't shut-down or gone into throw- things- rage mode, his bros and Charley were tip-toeing around him. He didn't like it. He couldn't figure out how to make it clear to them, that even though he got the raw end of the deal, with Carbine breaking things off like that (especially over Tribute, but that was a whole different issue in and of itself), he wasn't _that_ upset over it. Yes, when he was back on Mars and she was in his arms all the old feelings surfaced, but if he was honest with himself, it was more nostalgia than real emotion. Life had broken them apart. They had both assumed that the other had died somewhere along the course of the war and the distrust that surfaced between them because of Brie's video only solidified that they were not who they used to be. After coming back to Earth, even though he missed Carbine, the way he missed her was different. There wasn't that all consuming need that used to be there when he thought about her.

Not that he regretted anything he said or been dishonest with her. Everything he said to her, he meant. When he saw her, nothing, not even the rain falling on them, could have made him feel better. He had seen her real smile, and felt her lips for a moment. . . It brought him back to the night on Purple Ridge, when he'd convinced her to sneak away from boot camp to meet him in the dark. That was a memory that he would always smile about.

He pulled into the garage and waved at Charley, who was sending away the last customer of the day. After she pulled the roll-door closed, he removed his helmet and leaned on his handlebars. "Heard you needed help tonight."

She inclined her head to the side and motioned for him to follow into the kitchen.

He paced behind her and noticed the whiskey on the counter next to the 2 liter of root beer and two glasses full of ice. She poured what was probably three shots into each glass then added root beer, and after she stirred both glasses with a knife she walked back over to him.

"They lied to you a little." She admitted sheepishly.

His eyebrow arched as she put one of the glasses in his hand and continued to hold it, her fingers brushing over his.

She covered the glass with her other hand and looked at him seriously. "This is about exorcising demons."

"Charley-girl, you're not making any sense. Whatever they told you, I'm fine."

"Bullshit." She challenged. "You got hurt. And I'm. . . we're all worried about you."

He didn't move away from her, but he looked down at her, annoyed at the bait and switch, "So what you want me to drink with you, watch something sad, and cry it out?" The anger crept into his tone, before he could catch himself.

She held his gaze, seemly unfazed by his outburst. "Will that make you feel better?"

"No." He wasn't comfortable with her in his space right now. The contradiction of the cold glass in his hand and her warm fingers resting on his wrist was making his arm tingle. "I know Carbine and I were together for a long time, but I'm really not mad at her. I don't understand why you're all waiting for me to lose it. She was my girl and she'll always hold. . ."

"Drink." Charley moved her hand away from the top of the glass and moved it towards him. "Just take a sip." She requested quietly.

He complied and it burned going down, but after a minute of it settling, a warmth spread through him. He sighed and let his shoulders relax just a little.

"See, I want you to anchor that good memory with the warmth your feeling." She explained moving away from him. "Now this isn't for everyday, but for tonight it'll do the job." She gave him a relaxed smile and sipped from her own glass. "When my mother left, my father wanted to hate her, but knew, because of me, he shouldn't. So his brother came over about a month after she left and they drank the night away. Anchoring the good memories to the heat of the whisky and letting go of the bad ones, by punching the walls." She lifted her calendar off from its place on the wall and showed him the fist imprint still in the wall.

Charley lifted her own fist and placed it in the impression. "I would like it if you could use my punching bag for that part. I don't think my garage would survive a barrage of hits from you and your nuks."

He let out a humorless chuckle and sipped the mixture again.

"Ah." She pointed at him. "Tell me a good memory."

"This moment. . . right now. My friend trying to cheer me up." He raised his glass at her. "So were you just plannin' on getting me drunk?"

"Sorta." She shrugged. "I was getting ready to cook dinner. Those two aren't exactly planners, so this was kinda last minute. I can throw some dogs on for you, if you're hungry."

"Was that what you were gonna cook?"

"No, I was gonna sear some chicken with the whiskey and put it with the salad I need to finish off before it goes bad." She shrugged reaching for another pan, but he intercepted her.

"Don't wanna make you cook twice." He took the secondary pan out of her hand. "If there's enough I can share with you."

"Okay." She reached around him for her glass.

He caught the bottom of the glass before she could drink, "Ah-ah. Where's your good memory."

"One of my mice is volunteering to eat something other than hot dogs. If you set the table I'll pinch myself." She smirked, before he reached over her head for two plates.

"Double or nothing, Charley-girl."

"Thanks Hot-shot, don't mind if I do." She gave him a wink, before he moved away from her to set the plates down.

Charley heated up the pan and added a shot of whisky making smoke rise up from it. He leaned against the counter and watched her for a minute.

"You can get the salad out of the fridge and silverware is in the drawer next to the sink." She didn't look up from her task.

He finished setting the table and turned around to find the mechanic swaying her hips to whatever song was playing in head. His ears were sensitive to pick up on the lyrics she was murmuring. Did she really have to have to pick _that_ song by _Bad Company_?

The chicken smelled good and she obviously knew her way around a kitchen, 'though he'd never seen any evidence of it before, unless you count hot dogs. She added some spice to the pan, than opened the refrigerator, before looking back at him. "You don't like cheese." She stated plainly.

He rattled the ice in his glass. "Can't ever remember that being mystery, Babe." He took a sip and informed her, "The day we met."

"You and me or you and Carbine?"

"You and me." He admitted and not missing the fact that she took a sip of her own drink.

She tapped the fridge door. "I normally put cheese in this." She watched his nose twitch. "I think I could skip it this time."

"I'd appreciate it."

She put a hand on her hip, "I keep meaning to ask. Why do you guys hate cheese so much?"

"Just doing our part to fight stereo-typing." He laughed at her expression, "I'm kidding, Charley-girl. It's just the smell, honest." He motioned to his nose.

She went back to the stove and cut a small piece of chicken off, examining it make to make sure it was cooked all the way through. She bit it in half and offered the other piece to Throttle. When he looked unsure, she rolled her eyes, "I need to know if it's too bland."

His fingers brushed over hers as he took the chicken from her, and he had to admit it tasted really good. He nodded at her, "Not bad."

"See I _can_ do more than boil water on this stove to cook hot dogs."

"'Course you can. They taste good off the grill too."

She laughed, and took the pan to the table, splitting the meat between the two plates. "I'm gonna change; I smell like antifreeze." She tugged on her shirt's collar and disappeared up the stairs.

He looked around the garage and took a longer drink than he probably should have. But Charley was right, it made him feel warm and relaxed, so just this once; what the hell? He remembered that first meeting with Charley, when she allowed him access to her mind, without a second thought. Not that he'd really given her a chance to argue, but still there had been no resistance there.

Mind sharing was a part of sex in Martian culture, (it wasn't only for sex, but that was what was on his mind at the moment. Blame that on the alcohol) it was that deep connection that separated a fuck, if you'll excuse the term, from actual sex. He and Carbine's first time, (he took another decent drink) he felt her try and let him in completely, but there was a slight resistance. He didn't believe that she'd done it intentionally, but she hadn't had an easy life, even before the war. He remembered running his fingertips over the scars on her back and her quick explanation that she was clumsy kid. His fist clenched unconsciously, remembering her lie; the Martian female was the epitome of grace.

He heard steps on the stairs and looked up see Charley: work-shirt replaced with what looked like a very soft sweater, jeans replaced with black stretch pants and barefoot vs. her normal brown boots. She hoped down the last step and sauntered up to him, snatching away his nearly empty glass. "You got ahead of me." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"Pretty sure I can handle a little more liquor than you, Babe."

"Don't be so sure." Charley admonished. "Back in the day I used to drink boys your size under the table every Friday night." She re-mixed the concoction for him and handed the glass back.

During their meal, he finished off his second glass and she finished her first. He pretended not to notice that she made hers weaker this time around and kept his at full strength. Other than sharing happy memories, they ate quietly. They got around to discussing her day at the shop and his annoyance at his bros smothering him.

"They're worried about you." Charley popped a cherry tomato in her mouth. "You take care of them; you need to let them take care of you a bit. You can't be tough all the time."

The soft timber of her voice caught his attention and he looked at her over the rim of his glasses. He forgot for a moment how bad his vision was without those glasses and how much he needed them to block brighter lights. He cursed and pushed them back up agitated at needing them for the first time in ages.

"Are you alright?" She questioned as a large crash echoed in the street outside the garage. Suddenly the pair was engulfed in darkness and he heard Charley's quickened breath. "Can you see?"

He blinked, ignoring the lingering pain, and pushed himself away from the table. "Yeah, stay here; I'll check it out." His vision wasn't perfect in the dark, but he could make out outlines and basic shapes.

"Um, sit here in the dark and wait for whatever that was to come and get me? I don't think so, Mister." She fumbled for him and managed to grab a hold of his arm.

_Yup that sweater is very soft_. He led her away from the table and over to the window and peered out. "Power line's down. Looks like the storm took it out."

"I didn't even hear the rain start." She tugged on his arm. "Come on I need to get some candles out."

She grabbed a few candles and their drinks. "What?" She questioned catching his expression in the flickering candle light. "The only thing the lack of power changes is the form of entertainment. Could you grab my radio, _please_?"

She sat down on the couch and set the items in her hands on the coffee table in front of her. Throttle turned on the radio and set it on the floor next to the couch. He kept the volume low and sat down next to her.

"How long will the batteries last?"

"Like four or five hours if we leave it on." She shrugged her shoulders.

He looked at her, the candles giving her a near haloed look. He took a long drink from his cup, before setting it on the coffee table. He leaned back and rested his head against the couch, allowing himself relax. He felt far too complacent; the liquor had gone straight to his head.

"Are you okay?"

"More okay than I probably should be." He admitted, before letting what was on his mind escape. "Carbine and me, we met when we were kids, before either of us signed up to fight. Her daddy was, what would equate to a five star general in your military, and that scared most of the boys off, but not me." A ghost of a smile passed over his lips, and he continued quietly, "I think that's one of the reasons Carbine and I got together; she liked that I stood up to him. She joined the military, but I signed up with the freedom fighters, so she was forbidden to see me. Didn't even slow us down." He chuckled and another nostalgic smile graced his face. "She used to sneak out of the camp to meet me, and we'd ride up on this ridge. Sometimes, she'd fall asleep on the back of my bike. She was wound up tight, even as a cadet. She felt like she had to prove herself to her father. Show him that she was good enough to be called his daughter. She worked herself half to death. I think those moments with me, were the only moments she actually relaxed."

Charley took a drink from her glass, and rested her hand on his arm.

"There were some great times. But she's got a lot on her shoulders, trying to help rebuild a planet. And I. . . I don't know when I'm coming home." He pulled his glasses off and set them on the table. "Not fair to make her wait for me. I can't really blame her for wanting a life. And Tribute. . ."

"That's his name, huh?" She dared to ask, trying to trend lightly with poor mouse.

Throttle rubbed his eyes and forced out the correction, "_Her_ name is Tribute. She's my half-sister."

Charley slapped her hand over her mouth. He didn't need to see it, it echoed in the quiet room. "Oh, god I'm so sorry." He could hear her trying not to audibly laugh.

"It's not really funny, Babe." He complained.

"Well no, but. . ." She was failing miserably at hiding her amusement. "I never would have thought. . . I'm sorry, it's really not funny. I just can't believe those two lug-heads didn't tell me."

"Didn't get into the gritty details with them," he grumbled. "If you'd like to get that laugh out of your system, feel free."

"No, I'm not really laughing at you, it's just . . ." Charley started snickering, and it was such a joyful little sound that he couldn't help but crack a grin, despite himself. Than an actual giggle, a full-on girlie-giggle escaped her lips, "On the advantage you don't have to go through the whole feeling inadequate thing."

He choked out a laugh, he really couldn't help it.

"What?" She was smiling he could hear it in her voice. "I'm serious. That makes it 110% not your fault, I mean you've got the wrong equipment. But obviously she liked something about you, because she moved on to someone in your family."

He wasn't sure what it was about that last statement, but he started really laughing. There was something infectious in her giggling that made it impossible not to follow her lead. He was laughing so hard there were tears rolling down his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this hard and Charley was only encouraging him.

"Think of it, you were only guy, right? So maybe you were so good that no other man, er, male would compare." She prodded, patting his shoulder.

He grabbed her hand in his, "Charley-girl, you're killing me. I'm supposed to be depressed and drinking away my demons."

"I always thought that laugher chased them away quicker." She ran the fingers of her other hand along his facial features, slow and soothing, "Besides, depression will ruin your good looks."

He sighed in appreciation at the contact, "Babe, I. . ." His voice lowered, but not from any sort of sorrow or depression, like she was probably assuming it was.

"It's alright. I'm here." She consoled; suddenly so close that he could feel her breath against his face. He jumped in response to her proximity, but she simply made a soothing sound and continued her ministrations.

"Charley." He meant it to come out as a question; instead it came out as growl. He tipped her chin and captured her in a kiss. She tasted like liquor and something sweet he couldn't place. He tangled his fingers in her soft hair and pulled her into his lap with his tail. She was soft and so responsive to his touch. Her fingers moved behind his ear, gods, he couldn't remember the last time he felt this good, this on fire. One of his hands worked its way under her shirt, up her flat stomach; his fingers brushing over what felt like lace.

Suddenly she moaned out his name and he froze. What the hell he doing? And with her. . .

He untangled himself from her and set her back on couch, ignoring her whimper. That sound about made him snatch her right back up, but he pushed himself towards the arm of the couch and put some space between them. "Sorry." He muttered quietly, snatched up his glasses, and fled (no literally look up 'running like a chicken shit' and you'll see a video of what he just did) to the bathroom. It was quiet for about twenty minutes, then she called out to him once, twice, then he heard her lean against the door.

Finally he heard her sigh outside the door. "I'm going to bed. You're welcome to the couch, since you know better than to drive." She sounded small and confused. "Throttle?"

He winced at the sound of her voice, he hated hearing her like that, but he didn't trust himself to answer.

After the silence persisted, her tone got a little angry, "Well, I'm getting up at nine tomorrow and I expect to have my house to myself by then. Night."

.:.

The last half of June had been miserable, and mid-way through July things didn't look like they were going to get any better. The morning after the, um, couch incident, he'd gotten up early enough to be out of her way by nine, just like she requested. In fact, he stayed away completely for three days, giving the woman ample space, while he tried to figure out how to best apologize for his uncontrolled actions.

The first time he saw her, he told her that he was sorry the whole thing happened. It was a huge mistake; between the liquor and thinking about Carbine, he'd just lost his head and crossed a line. She blinked at him for a moment and simply stated, "It's fine." He was not so naïve to believe that lie, but he let it go hoping that after a little more time things would go back to normal.

So he anticipated Charley still being upset, but not the full-force cold shoulder that he got. She avoided him like the plague, leaving any room he walked into it, if they were alone, and keeping one of his bros between them at all times, if they weren't. She tried playing it casual in front of Vinnie and Modo, but they both noticed that something was wrong. When Modo asked her about it, she merely shrugged her shoulders and went back to what she was doing. He needed to talk to her, clear the air between them, this situation just couldn't continue.

The apparent relationship change between Charley and Vinnie wasn't helping either. The two had a night out two weeks ago and the subtle changes were impossible to miss. Vinnie was quieter, his version of calmer, and seemed to be more careful with his words towards the mechanic. Charley stood closer to Vinnie now, often initiating physical contact and she was always whispering to him. The two spent more time alone at the Last Chance; Vinnie hadn't come home the other night until almost dawn. _Not that it really mattered, they were both adults, but still._ Whatever was going on there, they seemed content to keep it to themselves. Not that it was any of anyone's business, but you would think that they would say something. _Or more accurately that Vinnie would be saying __**everything**__, but the white mouse had spent the last two weeks, nearly silent. _

She was attending a friend's wedding tonight. She'd been complaining to Vinnie about the stupid dress and heels that were being forced on her. Vinnie had laughed and asked if she'd take a picture for him, "'cause she looked hot in heels." He ignored pang of jealousy, when Charley kissed his bro's cheek and whispered a thank you.

Speaking of the loudmouth, he was walking by Vinnie's bike, when he heard the beep emanate from the red helmet attached to the bike. He patched the signal through _Sweetheart's_ speakers, and the bike let out a quiet growl at beinghandled by someone other than Vinnie or Charley, but she quieted when the voice came through.

"Can you come get me?" Charley's voice was quiet; vulnerable.

He was quiet, not sure how to respond; Vinnie and Modo were watching the game in the other room.

"Vinnie?" She questioned at the silence.

"He's not here, Ba. . . Charley." He corrected quickly, hoping she wouldn't notice the slip. "Where are you? I can. . ."

"I'll just call a cab." He winced at her tone, gods, he thought Carbine had bite in her voice.

"Don't waste your money. I'll come get you; no trouble. You're at that stone church on Michigan Ave, right?"

He heard her draw a breath in, then let it out slowly like she was drawing on her last reserve of patience, "I don't remember telling _you_ where the wedding was gonna be."

"You told Vinnie, and my ears ain't here for show. I can leave right now."

The silence was deafening, before she finally answered. "Okay. If you're sure Vinnie's not around."

He gave a half a second of consideration to getting Vinnie for her, but he shook his head. He needed to talk to Charley alone, without any chance of them getting interrupted. "Him and Modo found those left over beers from the 4th." _Okay so that was a flat out lie. Sorry Ma, I know you raised me better, but desperate times and all that._ "I'm the only one good to drive."

The red bike gave a low beep of warning to the tan mouse.

"Is _Sweetheart _okay? I can hear her growling." Charley picked up on the sound.

Throttle glared at the machine, "She's fine, Charley, just watching a mouse make an idiot out of himself."

"Alright," She sounded tired. "I'll be out front. Hey do me a favor."

"Anything, Babe."

She exhaled heavily, apparently, she had noticed his slip this time. "Just hurry and get down here."

He grabbed his dress shirt and leather jacket, before leaving the stadium; weddings were formal affairs, he didn't need to embarrass Charley on top of everything else he'd done lately.

.:.

Emerald green. He'd never get the color out of his mind's eyes after tonight. He saw Charley before she saw him and he was glad, it gave him a moment to drag his jaw off the ground. He'd never seen her look like this before, dressed up, sure, but never like this. The embellished top was low, cut to accentuate her features and it was short in the front, stopping above her knees, but the back was long. Vinnie was not wrong about her looking "hot in heels," the silver shoes seemed to change her whole posture. Her hair was pulled up in some elegant style, with a few errant curls falling around her face. Tonight in the ethereal dress, Charlene Davidson, looked like nothing short of a goddess. He willed his brain to remember this moment perfectly, just a snap shot for him to keep when he had to leave this world.

He was about to call out to her, when a dark-haired man rushed up to Charley and grabbed her arm.

Charley's body tensed instantly and while Throttle couldn't hear her over the traffic, he could tell she was angry. She jerked her arm away from other man and pointed back towards the church adamantly. The man, whoever he was, was obviously trying to calm her down and he stepped into her space, placing a hand on her cheek.

Throttle's eyebrow arched, Charley was giving this guy every 'back-off' signal and he didn't seem to be getting the hint. He was about to go impress upon this _gentleman_ the seriousness of the situation, when Charley shifted her hips. _Uh-oh, he knew this move, he taught her this move_.

He smirked as the mechanic finished settling her weight and slapped the guy across the face. _Okay so technically he taught her that stance for her left hook, but close enough._ He chuckled under his facemask. _Well, that was his cue_. He pulled the bike up the curb and Charley jumped on, accepting the helmet he offered her.

Throttle gave the bewildered man, who still holding his face, a mock salute and pulled back onto the street. "Nice shot, Babe." He chuckled, "What'd he say?"

"None of your business." She snapped through the comm. link. "That's why I asked you to hurry. I didn't want to deal with him."

"Sorry, bike was running low on fuel; didn't want to risk it."

She huffed, "Just take me home." Her voice was like ice. He hated seeing this side of her. Charley was a kind, open person; this attitude seemed unnatural.

"Nope." He shook his head.

"Excuse me?" She knocked on his helmet, "Hey Throttle, I'm not an expert on Martian culture, but I'm pretty sure that kidnapping is kidnapping whatever planet you're on."

"I'm not kidnapping you. I just wanna talk." He explained with a heavy sigh, "Please just give me a little time."

He wanted to look back at her, but there was a lot of traffic on road and he didn't need to make this situation any worse by, gods forbid, crashing.

"Not like I have a lot of choice. This dress isn't exactly made for bailing off a bike."

"The dress is nice and you look beautiful in it." He complimented matter-of-factly. He pulled onto the highway, and wrapped his tail around her, just in case. The material of her dress was soft, and thin enough that he could feel the heat of her skin beneath it.

"Thanks." She muttered, but instead of wrapping her arms around him or resting her hands on his shoulders, she leaned back.

He ventured a glance back and found that she was gripping the backrest behind her. Her whole body was tense, even with space between them he could feel her unease. This was what he needed to repair between them; she didn't feel comfortable with him. He knew that he had crossed a line with her and caused her pain, but he didn't realize that it had gone this far. She had felt safe with him before, but now that trust between them was broken.

Lights caught his attention and he changed lanes effortlessly, speeding up slightly, hoping the girl would move towards him, but she stubbornly held her grip on his bike. He knew where he was going, so could allow himself the luxury of listening to and feeling for any subtle clues that the girl might be giving off about her current state of mind. Most of what he was picking up on was anger and frustration, but there was something else that he couldn't quite indentify. Women; they were a mystery, no matter what species.

He kept his bike at the speed limit, trying to let the lazy drive ease the tension between them. The park he was taking her to was perfect for the situation: it was quiet, secluded, and most importantly, it was far enough away, that even if she called Vinnie to come get her he would still have some time to talk to her.

He pulled off onto the exit ramp. "Just the park you took us to back in May."

Charley huffed into the comm. in response. She was looking around as he downshifted again. He didn't want to risk going too fast on the dirt path. He thought he heard a rumble of something. He tapped the face shield away in time to hear the tale-tell growl of thunder. He didn't glance up, but he felt the first drop of rain hit his hand. _Damn-it, I forgot to check the weather. _The sky opened up, releasing a deluge of water on both of them.

"Great." She growled wrapping her arms around him tightly, trying to protect her front from the rain.

He turned down the path that led to the structure he'd seen the last time they'd been here. He was grateful for his leather jacket, since it blocked the weather, but winced knowing that Charley wasn't wearing much and now she was soaking wet and most likely cold. He pulled up next to the gazebo making sure his bike was under the awning.

Charley bailed off the bike, before he had a chance to see if she needed help. She nearly fell, but she caught herself at the last moment and clamored up the stairs. She had her back to him and she was wringing out part of the dress.

His bike growled at the fact she was wet, the Martian machine was not a big fan of rain. "I know girl, I'm sorry. I shoulda checked the weather." He patted the bike apologetically, "All my girls are mad at me tonight. I'll try and convince her to wait storm out before we head back."

"Great idea this was." Charley barked, "She hates the rain."

"I _know_ she hates rain." He clunked up the steps, a little agitated at the scolding. "She's my ride. I do know her better than you, believe or not. I used to take care of her myself." The words got away from him before he could stop them. He knew this was only going to add fuel to the. . .

"Well you can go back to that if you'd like." She started fussing with the helmet; a few scratching sounds against the plastic, then a crack, "Son of a. . .ARR!" She stopped short of the expletive and shook her hand violently, obviously in pain. "I hate these f'ing nails!"

"Here." He walked up to her slowly, "I can help you with the helmet if you want." The girl sighed and dropped her hands to her sides, but her fists were still clenched. "You ain't gonna pop me are you?" He asked, mostly kidding.

"No, I'm not going to hit you." He caught her rolling her eyes under the face-shield. "I just want this off."

He unsnapped the chin strap and lifted the helmet off. He winced at her sour expression and stepped out of her way as she paced by him.

She pushed herself up to sit on one of the openings and started pulling hair pins out of her hair. She flipped her head down and ruffled her hair before sitting back up. He thought that this was how she must look in the morning. "So what did you want to talk about?" She started fishing through her purse and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. She rarely smoked, but being around bikers her whole life made her susceptible to the bad habit.

"Did you want to let Vinnie know you were out here with me? Don't want him worrying 'bout you." He offered, trying to see if he could calm her a bit.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself, alien kidnappings excluded." She lit the cigarette and took a drag on it, "I'm sure he's fine."

He shook his head and reminded her, "He doesn't like it when you smoke; none of us do."

She flicked the aptly named 'caner stick' into the rain defiantly, "there, all gone. Can we get this over with, preferably before I get pneumonia?"

He knew this was not going to be an easy conversation, but she seemed to be intentionally making it more difficult. Maybe it was better if he just 'ripped the bandage off' so to speak. "I want to talk about what happened between us back in June." He looked at Charley, who seemed to be on a bad habit binge tonight, since she now had a flask in her hand, and continued. "I know I hurt you. And look, Charley, I can't tell you how sorry I am that it happened. If I could take it back. . ." He stopped short of that lie, because he honestly wouldn't take it back. It was just that she didn't feel _that_ way about him and probably felt like he'd taken advantage of her. He really hated apologizing; he was lousy at it. He cleared his throat, "Look, I was out of line. It was mistake to drink that much in the first place and thinking about Carbine just made it worse. I don't want you to feel used or. . ." He stopped short when the girl in front of him starting shaking her head. He wasn't sure if she was confused, or if she was crying, or. . . she was laughing?!

Charley was laughing.

He had expected a lot of reactions to this apology, being a planner it was in his nature. He expected the standard, 'you're right we're friends and we'll get through this,' a few other cliché things, and he wouldn't really admit it, but in his widest imaginations she told him 'he had nothing to apologize for' and things got interesting from there. Never however, did he expect to hear her laughing at him. It dawned on him that she didn't believe him.

Throttle could handle about anything that life threw at him: he survived a prison camp, was displaced on a foreign world, had his girlfriend of many years dump him for his sister, and he lived with Vinnie, but this. . . Understand, that a mouse's word, was often all he had. His mother had raised him alone, after his father took off, and she taught him to be honest. "Throttle, tell the truth, even if it hurts. Any truth, even an ugly one, is better than any pretty lie." He took that to heart and he did his damn-est not to lie. So someone not taking his word at face value was infuriating.

"You're sorry?" She scoffed, taking a swig from her flask.

He was angry at her reaction, but he was trying to control himself. "Yes. I am sorry, Babe. Believe it or not."

"Not." She clipped, "If you were so sorry why didn't you just come out and tell me that night? Or you know, any of those three days you were avoiding me."

"I was not avoiding you. I was giving you space." There was an honest growl to his tone. He would never hit a woman, but he was seriously considering doing damage to the structure they were standing in.

"I call bullshit." She huffed screwing the cap back on her flask. Charley had a temper, it didn't come out often, but when it did; watch out. "You were avoiding me. If you regretted it, you shoulda talked to me instead of hiding like a _mouse_."

That insult, it was intentional. Throttle was not above losing his temper and that statement, pushed his last button. "Didn't seem to bother you too much. Seems you've been going around with Vinnie just fine." He watched her expression fall before he turned away from her and he should have stopped there, but he didn't, "Fake tears to reel him in, huh?"

"You asshole!"

Her flask hit him between the shoulder blades and he whirled around to find her on her feet stomping towards him.

"You don't know jack-shit." She accused. "Fake tears? Fake tears to reel him in, huh?" She shoved him back with both hands. "I don't cry fake tears. I'm honest. You know why I've been _going around_ with Vinnie?! He saw how upset I've been and he took me out to cheer me up and tried to kiss me in the process. I had to tell him that I thought of him like a brother and. . . and it sucked. I had to hurt him, but at least I did it." She poked her finger into his chest. "He knows how I feel, instead of being in limbo."

Throttle had let her back him up to the other side of the gazebo, his back resting against the wood. He felt like shit; he's accused her of something she hadn't done and. . . Oh hell he had messed this whole thing up royally. There were tears rolling down Charley's cheeks and while he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, he didn't dare move.

"I've been _going around_ with him, so he knows that he is important to me, even if it's not the way he wants." She sniffled, but kept that one sharp nail pressed into his chest. "If you didn't feel the same way about me, or you didn't want me; you should have just told me." Her voice was softening, like all the anger was leaving her body. "I appreciate you not using me, and all that, but you could just have told me that you were thinking of her, when you were kissing me."

"What?" He blinked, "What did you say?" He realized that this was not the sort of intelligent answer that Charley was looking for or deserved in this situation, but he was dumbfounded. She thought he was thinking of Carbine when they were. . . The whole idea was ridiculous; he had stopped because of who she was, not who she wasn't.

"_I get it_." She empathized, "You're apologizing because you were thinking of her, when you were with me." She looked away, "Even with how I feel about you; I don't want to be a substitute for anyone."

"Gods, Charley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . ." he put his finger under her chin and tipped up her face. There were still tears falling from her eyes, smearing her make-up, he brushed his thumb over her cheek, starting to wipe them away.

"Don't." She whispered, pushing at him. "I don't want your pity."

"No pity here, Babe." He placed a feather-light kiss to her forehead. The words 'even with how I feel about you' were playing over and over again in his head. She shivered a bit and he let go of her face to rub her bare arms. "You cold?"

She shook her head on reflex, but quickly changed her mind and nodded.

"Can't have that." He shrugged his jacket off and laid it over her shoulders. Now that she wasn't trying to kill him, he took just a moment to look at her again. She pulled the jacket tighter to herself, threading her arms into the sleeves. He knew she was taller for a female, by human standards, but she looked so petite in his jacket. He forgot how small she was compared to him, there was such strength in her that it often masked any physical limitations. Of course looking at her now, with the rain soaked dress clinging to her like a second skin, her tousled hair and _his_ jacket wrapped around her shoulders, she just looked, looked. . . 'Sexy' seemed fitting, but not really enough, that word lacked something. Seeing her in his jacket sparked a whole other set of emotions. He liked how she looked in it; it made her look like she was his. Her pretty green eyes were questioning this whole situation, but she didn't seem too intent on talking. The lights from the gazebo were reflecting off the crystals on the dress and glittery shadow over her eyes; and even wet and crying, she was breath-taking. Now he always knew she was beautiful, but there was always something, or rather someone in the way. There was always a reason not to say anything, but now. . .

The girl shifted in front of him, probably uncomfortable trying to balance her weight on the heels. "Here." Before she had a chance to question, he picked her up by her hips and spun them around, setting her down on the opening of the gazebo. "There you go. Those shoes don't look like they're made for walkin'." He expected her to roll her eyes or scoff at the cheesy song reference, but instead she blinked at him, confusion plain on her face.

He bent down and retrieved her flask from the ground, letting his finger trace the engraving on it: "Last Chance Auto Club." He could smell the whiskey in it, but it was sweeter than what they had been drinking _that_ night. He tried handing it to her, but she shook her head. He put the flask in his back pocket, just to get it out of the way. He heard her draw in an unsteady breath as she looked down at her lap; she was trying not to cry.

She pulled at his jacket closer, her hands disappearing into the pockets.

Even with the coat, he could see she was still cold. The wind had picked up as the storm got stronger. Thunder growled in the distance and lightening flashed across the sky. He moved closer to her and watched her roll her ankles. "Shoes bothering you, Charley-girl?"

She didn't look up, but she nodded and whispered, "They're heavy."

"Well you can't accuse me of being unhelpful." Throttle dropped to one knee and unclasped the buckle from her right shoe. She wasn't kidding, these things probably weighed as much as her favorite brown boots. He set the heels off to the side and watched the gooseflesh appear on her skin. He couldn't stop himself from running his hands up and down her calves, careful to stop at her knees.

"C'mere." Her voice beckoned softly.

He made eye contact with her as he got back on his feet. He was going to stand next to her, but she crooked her finger at him and moved her legs apart slightly. He got the subtle hint and although he wasn't sure where this was going, he stood between her legs obediently. He inclined his head to the side, looking up at her, curious about what she was thinking. A few tears slid down her cheeks and he reached up to cup the side of her face in his hand. "Don't cry, Charley, it's alright."

She clamped her eyes closed and he wiped the last of her tears away from her face. She pushed his hand away and leaned forward, to rest her head against his shoulder, "You weren't thinking of her?" She questioned, finally returning to the topic that brought them out here.

"No." He allowed himself to take a deep breath, drawing in her scent. He could smell the sweet but Earthy scent of the perfume she wore for special occasions mixed with the whiskey on her breath and the faint trace of sweat on her skin. He could feel her shifting and suddenly her arms were around his neck, drawing him closer, into a very intimate (considering how short that dress was) hug. Her breathing was unsteady, but she wasn't crying anymore. Lightning flashed bright across the sky illuminating the whole area in white light. He was content to be still and quiet with her, to let her decide where this was going.

"Who were you thinking about?" She asked the questioned, her breath moving the fur on his neck. He stiffened in response, unable to curb his reaction from the contact. Apparently she thought he was trying to move away, and in order to stop this she wrapped her legs around him too, drawing him that much closer. "Please don't give me any more space. I'd rather you just answer."

He wasn't quite sure how she expected him to think like this. He needed a little distance, so he could look at her (and form coherent thoughts), but she seemed to be intent on trapping him where he was. He patted her thigh, carefully and quickly, just enough to ask her physically to move. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere, Babe. But I would like to see your face."

She unhooked her arms and legs and sat back a bit, putting space between their bodies.

He took his glasses off and slid them in his shirt pocket. There wasn't enough light here to affect his eyes and he needed her to really understand how serious this was to him.

"You honestly think that I had someone else in mind that night?"

She bit down on her lip for moment before answering, "You said it was a huge mistake. That between the liquor and everything, you lost your head and crossed a line. That you were sorry it happened." She shook her head, making some of her hair fall in front of her face. "I assumed you meant. . . Well that you regretted that you were with me."

"I told you that it was a mistake, because it was." He watched her winced at the statement, but he gripped her hand in his and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with his free hand. "Don't you think I'd want to be in my right mind, if we were doing _that_?"

Her mouth opened and closed, and she gave a little shrug, apparently not trusting her own voice.

"Well, I would." He told her honestly. "With someone like you, Charlene, a mouse does not risk that being chalked up to drunken night. With you I would have to take my time, make every moment count, focus on the details, memorize every inch of you, and alcohol doesn't allow for that. Listen, I. . ."

Charley threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Her kiss was passionate and selfless, something he hadn't been able to appreciate the first time around. She may have initiated it, but allowed him to take the lead. She made a disappointed sound, when he pulled back.

He didn't leave much space between them, tangling the fingers of one hand in her hair and tracing a pattern on her hip with the other. He kissed the side of her neck, "You are so amazing. Everything about you, so strong but so giving. . . It's incredible." He breathed out against her skin, working his way up until he reached her face.

She was blushing. If he wasn't so turned on, he would have teased her about it, but he was, so instead he let out a low chuckle.

But Charley, she was never one to be the damsel for very long. She cocked her head to the side and asked him with a teasing smile, "You think you're up helping me again?"

He hadn't moved and his fingers were still moving against the fabric of her dress. "Charley-girl, anything you want, just ask."

"It's gonna require you to un-kidnap me and take me home." She warned running her finger over his ear.

He contained his shudder and tried to maintain his composure, "I think I can handle that." Charley kissed his cheek and put her hand on his chest as he asked, "What did you need help with?"

"This dress is very hard to get in and out of, it requires someone who can focus on details." She leaned forward, whispering in his ear, "Someone who can make every moment count."

Fate is not always kind, in fact, as a governing force in the universe; she is often cruel and unforgiving. However, there are moments when she decides to forward a kindness to some poor soul, who deserves it. And so tonight, she made a summer storm, simply stop, because sometimes she is kind to lovers.

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**Additional Notes:** I am planning on writing a little bit of an epic for this fandom, but I'm still working through finding cannon information. So look for that in the future. Thank you for your acceptance into this writing community. You guys are awesome.

Please Read and Review.


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